The Devil's In The Details
by movieholic
Summary: With the knowledge that he has two other children, Erik and his son set off to locate them. Their road trip is far from uneventful, however. Sequel to Sins Of The Father.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: As a writer, I have taken the liberty to choose and use various facts and tidbits from both the X-Men Comics and X-Men films. I will attempt to have everything make sense in the realm of my story, but there will be things that are not accurate in one world as they would be in another. This note is to appease any readers that find something is not "canonically correct," and choose to point it out. I'm aware. Thank you.**

* * *

**The Devil's In The Details**

* * *

It had been weeks since Erik Lehnsherr had involuntarily recruited his son to join his mutant cause. It had also been weeks full of inane chatter, persistent headaches, and constant eye rolling. Erik's mental state was, without a doubt, fragile after enduring his son, and all of said son's antics, for several days. The metal bender was convinced he was beginning to develop a permanent tic in his jaw from all the physically demanding attempts to keep his mouth shut. The same could be said for the twitch to his eye as he fought to keep his hands away from the teen's pale throat.

Erik's tight grip on the black steering wheel slowly lost its tension as the rambling teenager began rubbing at his eyes with his knuckle. He stifled a wide yawn with his free hand. Peter stretched his arms out, and accompanied the movement with another wide, and obnoxious yawn. He shifted in his seat for several minutes before finally lifting himself up, and shoving his lean body into the back of the car. His sneaker-clad foot clipped the tip of Erik's ear as he twisted and adjusted himself.

Despite his aggravation, Erik took a deep breath and focused his tired eyes on the black asphalt road before him. It wasn't long before the teen's heavy breathing evened out, and he succumbed to his evident exhaustion. Erik glanced in the review mirror, and couldn't help a fond smile from upturning the edges of his lips. The sight of his sprawled out son sleeping soundly in the back of their stolen vehicle wasn't a common one. He turned back to the dark road ahead, and stifled his own yawn.

The rhythmic rumble of the nondescript black Chrysler, coupled with the soft snores from Peter, and the caressing coolness of air from his cracked window threatened to lull the bone-weary man into a deep sleep. The smooth, black pavement gave way to desert sand when Erik finally forced himself to admit his fatigue, and pulled the car off the road. He coasted the vehicle around a small, rust-riddled shanty made from slabs of thin steel. It was the only building in sight for miles, and Erik didn't believe he'd have to fight anyone for the right to crash there for a night.

He put the car in park, before he turned the ignition off. Without the purr of the engine, the car ceased its mild vibration, and brought with it a sudden stillness and silence. Said silence was punctuated only by the mild snores from Peter, and the steady breathing from Erik himself. Erik closed his aching eyes, and rested his forehead against the warmth of the steering wheel he had only just let go of after hours upon hours of relentlessly tedious driving.

When he felt himself drifting off in his hunched over and uncomfortable position, Erik forcibly pulled his head up before rubbing at his eyes with the palms of both his hands. He suppressed a deep groan at the minimal relief the kneading wrought out. He turned his head to peek at the back seat, and was barely able to make out the dark lump that was his son with the aid of the moon. With his son sleeping relatively comfortably, and no immediate detectable threats, Erik allowed himself to push his seat back as far as his son's prone form allowed, and finally closed his eyes for much needed rest.

* * *

"Wakey, wakey, old man."

Erik slowly peeled back one lid, and then the other, before blinking rapidly to rid himself of the bleariness that clouded his vision. He craned his head to the right, and was met with a wide-eyed, grinning teenager with a loudly growling stomach. Despite the obviously hungry boy, Erik turned his head away, draped his forearm across his eyes, and tried to resume his sleep with a gruff, "Five more minutes."

Peter frowned, and began prodding his father's side with his finger. "Hey, man, c'mon." When the poking didn't rouse the man into action, Peter clambered back into the rear and placed his feet against the driver's side seat. He used his speed to vibrate the chair as fast and as hard as he could manage. The older man visibly started, before he pulled his arm away from his face.

"Knock it off," he grumbled in his sleep-heavy voice.

"I'm starving," the teenager petulantly whined.

Erik felt his body tense, and couldn't help the enraged tinge to his reply. "You don't _know_ what _starving_ is, boy." Despite this, he did pull himself upright, and pulled the driver's seat back into his original position with jerky and sharp movements.

Peter, aware that he had once again angered his father, adopted a mild pout before hefting himself into the front, passenger side seat. He squinted as the blinding sun pierced their unprotected windshield, and bore it's white, hot heat upon them. He lifted a hand to cover his brown eyes, and then risked a glance over to Erik.

The older man was unbuttoning the white polo that he wore; trying to pull the fabric away from his sweat-slicked skin with a grimace. The heat was becoming unbearable; especially trapped inside what was essentially a furnace, and without any noticeable breeze to move the stagnant air. He opened the car door, and pulled his long body out from the confining space. Peter watched as his father stretched, before he turned round and poked his head back into the car.

"I'm going to relieve myself," he stated. "Don't do anything stupid."

Peter opened his mouth to protest, but the sight of pale blue eyes zeroing on his neck gave him pause. The man looked like he was contemplating murder. His murder. So, instead of an ornery remark, Peter gave him an eye roll with accompanied mock salute.

When Erik returned, the teenager had placed his feet on the dashboard, and was dangling his arm out of the now rolled down window. Despite wanting to shove the kid's sneakers off the dash, Erik just ignored the slight rebuke of authority, and simply buckled his seatbelt instead. He rolled down his own window all the way, turned the ignition, and rolled the car forward.

They weren't on the road for long when the teen pulled his arm back in, and began drumming a random cadence against his thighs with the palms of his hands. He grinned up into the glaring sun, and closed his against the gentle caress of wind that tousled his silver locks.

"So," he began, "We grab some grub, and then what?" When no response was instantly forthcoming, Peter risked a peek at his father's impassive expression. His left arm rested on the door; his elbow nearly out of the vehicle's window as he propped his head against his closed hand. Their steady speed down the desert highway kicked up a dry mixture of air and dust that coated the crinkles around the older man's eyes. "Erik? What's the game plan, here?"

"The game plan, Peter, is to leave the planning up to me." The scathing remark was lessened by the man's lack of expression. However, a slight bend in the normally straightforward road angled the sun directly into his eyes. He grimaced at the sudden sharpness, and pulled his head away from where he had been resting it. "Sunglasses, kid."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Would it kill you to say _please_?" He pulled his legs off the dash, and began to rummage in the glove box. He pulled out the now familiar Dita Legends Carbine. His father had a taste for fashionable glasses.

"Yes. It would." Erik plucked the offered object from his son's hands, and slipped the frames onto his face. He resumed his head-propped position.

The teen scowled, and slouched further in his seat. He and his father had been traveling for weeks, and the most information that the teenager had managed to gather was that the two of them were going to recruit mutants for their cause. He didn't know how they were going to find them, convince them to drop whatever life they had been living, and then join their "rebellion against the humans" cause. But apparently he didn't need to be included in on the plan.

Peter's scowl deepened. He crossed his arms over his chest, and turned his head away from Erik. He didn't care if the man saw him annoyed or frustrated, but hurt or upset wasn't something he was quite willing to share just yet. The teen huffed soundly.

Erik, having noted his son's wounded demeanor, ground his teeth as he mentally argued with himself. He didn't mean to exclude the boy from everything, but he wasn't used to being open or inclusive with his plans or emotions. Ten years ago, maybe. But that was another time; another life.

"Look, Peter," Erik started with a heavy exhale, "I'm barely sure what I'm doing. I don't like working off the cuff, and _admitting_ that I don't." He pulled his head away from his hand, and let his arm graze the exterior of the sun-warmed car. "I'll try to include you more, okay?"

The teen perked when Erik started talking, but had refused to meet what he assumed was a steady gaze behind those purple-tinted glasses. When Erik grudgingly admitted his failings, he looked over and fought off a grin. "Yeah, okay."

* * *

**TBC...**

**Please Review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

Erik stared at the impossible looking knobs of the shower stall he currently stood in. A substantial buildup of limescale coated the bubble-glass door, and effectively rendered Erik blind to anyone or anything on the other side of the broom-closet sized bathroom. He figured, with a deeply blasé attitude, that it was only for the best that he couldn't see the rest of the equally disgusting room.

He withheld a displeased shudder when his elbow roughly skid across the gritty, off-white deposit. The space in the stall was abysmally small, and made for interesting stances when attempting to turn on the shower...much less actual showering. It took a few tries, but Erik eventually figured out how the knobs turned, and that the temperature of the water ranged from "hotter than the depths of Hell" or colder than the soulless pit that was named Shaw.

He quickly and efficiently rinsed off his lean form; absently pleased to be rid of the tacky sweat, and dusting of dirt that ringed his eyes. He disinterestedly watched as puce-colored water slid down his long torso, and swirl around the pink-rimmed drain. He curiously wondered if the water was that color before or after making contact with his skin, but shook his head and instead opted to dig his fingernails into his scalp in an attempt to wash it without shampoo.

When he finally stepped out of his scalding rinse, steam billowing behind him and coating the inside of his throat with its soaking oppressiveness, he blindly grabbed for the motel's offered towel (on a rack that looked barely fit to withstand the weight of a tissue much less any heavy fabric,) and pressed the rough material to his face with a muffled groan. Eyes closed and mouth pressed into a thin line, he removed the coarse, peach-colored towel from his now sensitive skin and rubbed it along his neck. Satisfied that he soaked up enough dripping water from the base of his neck's hairline, he diligently made short work of toweling off the rest of his limbs.

He easily slipped into a pair of white briefs, which he followed with beige slacks. He pulled a dark brown belt through the loops, and cinched the buckle at the front with condensation-slicked fingers. The struggle was brief, however, so he didn't think to use his powers in aide. He absently held out his hand and twisted his wrist; opening the bathroom door without looking at it. The warm air on the opposite side was significantly cooler than the one he currently stood in, therefore it was a somewhat welcome reprieve from the sweltering heat.

When he emerged from restroom, a brisk breeze tickled his bare torso before the door he just stepped out of slammed shut. He felt his lips quirk in amusement as he strode the few steps across the room in order to reach his designated bed. He plucked the navy blue, v-neck shirt he had laid out earlier from atop the paisley comforter, and slipped it on with ease.

Feeling much better, now that he was bereft of dust-slicked skin, Erik turned on his heel and settled on the edge of the mattress. He reached over to grab a sheaf of papers he left on the nightstand, and rifled through them till he came upon a hand-written note he had jotted himself. The piece of paper held his neat shorthand, and mentioned a mutant he had overheard about on the news a week prior. It was that news that had lead Erik and his son to this specific location. Without the use of Cerebro at their disposal, they were forced to use journalistic approaches to find their fellow mutants around the globe. Or at least stateside to start.

The mutant that they were currently looking for was a man that was reportedly able to distort reality. Erik felt a great need for a man with that kind of talent. So, the duo had struck out and hit the road. They closely followed the gossip and rumors, trusting them just slightly more than the actual news, because they usually held a modicum of truth when it came to strange sightings.

They were nearing their target, if the locals in this nearly desolate, desert town were anything to go by. Erik felt his toothy grin emerge from the knowledge that they were about to recruit the first brother to their cause. It didn't cross the metal-bender's mind that the other mutant may refuse their offer. It wasn't an option in his eyes.

Erik took a moment to replace the note back onto the pile, and pulled his legs onto the stiff mattress. He leaned back, dug his elbows into the ridiculously thin comforter, and pulled his lithe body down until his head rested upon the top of a pink-encased pillow. Settled as much as he could on such a disagreeable object, he rested his hands atop his taut stomach, and closed his eyes.

The impassive mutant called upon his meditative habits that he had formed during his time in solitary, and applied them to his breathing. After several minutes, he felt his tense body mold itself to the lumpy contours of the bed underneath him, and his breathing steady out into even puffs. He remained in this position for several minutes, before the sound of Peter bustling about the cramped room prompted him to open his right eye in a sliver of annoyed gray.

"One hour," he stated tiredly. He lifted one finger, pointed it at the teen, and added: "Stay out of trouble. I mean it."

Peter grinned toothily, and zoomed out of the motel room in a flurry of excitement. The teen wasn't used to tight spaces, and being confined to one small space after the other was slowly driving the young man insane. Erik knew how much he desperately wanted to be free of his metaphorical shackles, and occasionally granted the eager teen an hour or so of reprieve. So long as he behaved himself. And kept the theft to a minimum. They only had so much room in their car as it was.

Erik resumed his nearly unbroken trance. He felt his jaw lose its slight rigidness, and the shallow depressions that usually formed on his brow gradually smooth. The mutant wasn't sure when he re-closed his eyes, or how long he had dozed off, when he was suddenly startled to alertness by a familiar tickle across the forefront of his mind. He dug his right elbow into the mattress, and bodily pulled himself into an upright sitting position.

_ Charles_?

_ Hello, Erik_.

_Do I really need to resort to wearing that ridiculous looking helmet all the time_?

There was a mental equivalent of a dry chuckle, before Charles replied with _Ridiculous is a very apt term._

_ Yes. Pardon my being blunt, old friend, but is there something I can do for you?_

_ Hmm. Less of what you can do, and more of what you should know. _There was a pause, almost hesitant in its nature. _Despite my own feelings on the subject, and my previous earnestness to _never _find myself in your mind again, I feel it is my duty to inform you of some rather serious news. _

_ You know, for someone who so vehemently stated he would never_ _go into my mind again, you sure find yourself there often. _Erik, who had been staring at a yellow stain on the wall across from him, chose to close his eyes and imagine himself having a face-to-face conversation with Charles. He could vividly picture cherry red lips, electric blue eyes, and ivory white skin.

_Erik,_ the voice was grave. Erik nearly opened his eyes again, as if the expressive face of his old friend would be before him, and could show the gravity of what he was about to say. _Peter isn't the only one, Erik._

That wasn't what he expected to hear. Erik frowned, and felt the earlier depressions on his brow return in full force. _Only one? Charles, I don't understand._

_ Peter isn't the only child. _Your_ only child._

Erik felt his entire body stiffen; his stomach dropped to his toes, and his heart leapt into his throat. _Peter. Peter isn't my only child? _

_ I'm afraid not. _

_ You're not taking the piss, are you, old friend?_

_ Erik, _that mental sigh again, _Peter has a twin sister. And there is another, younger child. _

The metal-bender could feel his lips moving, as if he was physically trying to form words that Charles wouldn't be able to hear immediately. The man's talents were amazing, but they were still rusty after so many years without full use of them.

_A twin._

_ Yes. And another. A daughter._

Charles sounded patient, as if could feel the shock wreaking havoc within his body. In actual fact, Erik was positive the mutant could, but he was too over bridled with conflicting emotions to form more than one coherent thought at a time.

_I have a daughter. Two daughters. _Erik slowly opened his eyes. _Where? Charles, where are they? _He sat up straighter. _Where are my children?_

Then he felt it. He could feel Charles hesitancy come back full force. He didn't want Erik to know where his own children were. Why? Why didn't his old friend want to know?

Erik ground his teeth, and grimaced. He didn't want him to know, because he didn't want Erik to "corrupt" them as he believed Erik had done to Peter. He didn't want them roped into Erik's Brotherhood. Erik exhaled sharply, and slammed his eyes closed again.

_Listen here, old friend. They are my children. My flesh and blood. Damn your own feelings on the matter. I demand to know where they are!_

So, it was with great reluctance that the mental-manipulator told Erik what little he was able to glean from Cerebro. He described what he could make out of their appearance, their powers, and their last known location. When he finished sharing what he knew, he offered some last advice: _Tread carefully, Erik. They are more powerful than you fully realize._

The connection left as suddenly as it had came, and left Erik with the odd sense that Charles wasn't referring to his newly discovered daughters.

* * *

**TBC...**

**Please Review.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

Completely unsettled by the unexpected bomb that was Charles' news, Erik found himself sitting on the edge of the bed, and bouncing his leg up and down in a mindless rhythm. The steel frame underneath him groaned as he placed his elbows on his thighs, and creaked when he formed twin fists with his hands before he placed them on either side of his now hanging head. Whether it was his weight on the feeble frame or his current tenuous grasp on his powers that caused the creaking and groaning, he couldn't be sure.

He gradually loosened his clench when the blunt nails of his fingers began to pierce the palms of his hands. He brought them down to his jaw, and splayed his square fingers over the tight muscle. It ticked underneath his palms; the calloused skin of his hands catching on the rough stubble. He slowly raked his nails over the taut skin, and back up into his hairline. He grasped the little wisps of curly hair with both of his hands, and tugged.

_Another. Two. Daughters. _

His thoughts were a jumbled, chaotic mess; his emotions ever more so. The litany continued: _Two. Daughters. Another. Daughters. Two daughters._

Bewilderment, elation, confusion, anxiousness, nervousness...His emotions rallied and thrummed in his veins as he thought: _I have two girls. Two daughters. Three kids. _

He could almost picture the girls from Charles' brief description of them. The eldest was, obviously, Peter's age. She didn't appear to be as untoward as her brother (he hadn't heard any news or rumors flying around about anyone similar to her,) or outlandish in her looks (no preposterous goggles in sight or long, silvery locks.) Charles described a teen of average height, with unremarkable dark brown hair and equally dark eyes. It was a severely vague and wanting portrayal, but it was all Charles could offer from such a short amount of time spent looking at her. He had added that he believed the teen able to affect probability, but was unsure of how the power manifested when it was in use.

Then there was the little girl. Charles surmised she had to be at least ten years of age, possibly a tad bit more if her youthful looks were as deceiving as her father's. With her age in mind, Erik was sure the child was conceived during his time in Dallas (he had had a brief interlude with a woman he could not now recall,) before the President's accidental assassination and his solitary imprisonment for said act. He was informed that the girl had shockingly emerald green hair and stunning green eyes. It was harder for Erik to picture such a child as his own with that description in mind. It was easier to imagine a child that could control magnetism; which she was able to do.

As Erik sat in wondrously profound thought, there was a brief flash of startlingly white sunlight cutting through the dimly lit room, but it disappeared as fast as it appeared. The space before Erik, which contained a single sized bed identical to the one he currently sat on, was suddenly filled with curious brown eyes and an unevenly tanned face.

"Erik?" Peter waved a hand in front of the man's face. The breadth of space between their separate beds barely allowed them to sit across from one another without knocking their legs together. "You okay? You look pale. Like, night of the living dead, pale."

Erik, who had trained his glazed over eyes to the teen's knees when he appeared, slowly trailed his steely gaze up and looked directly into Peter's large, brown eyes. "Did you know?" His voice was hoarse; his glare fierce.

"What?" Peter's lips pulled down into a small frown. He furrowed his brow, and crinkled his upturned nose in confusion. "Did I know what?"

"Did. You. Know?" Erik brought his right fist down against his sinewy thigh with every word he managed to grit out between his shark-white teeth. "You have a sister, and you _didn't_ tell me?"

The metal body of the twin cots squeaked as their rusted frames were gradually bent to Erik's powerful will. His fingers, wrapped in a white-knuckled clench, tightened impossibly further. The overhead bulb, bare of any shade, swung dangerously back and forth until a minuscule twitch of Erik's eye caused the chain to snap and the glass to fall to the thin carpet in result. It bounced once before shattering. The glass glittered against the maroon red flooring despite the lack of light.

"All this time, Pietro, and you didn't think it prudent to share?" The alarmingly low growl of a voice Erik emitted was more frightening than if he had been yelling. As Erik abruptly stood, his long legs whacked the teen's outstretched limbs and caused the bony knees to painfully smack against one another. The boy winced and rubbed at his kneecaps as Erik towered over the utterly confused teen. "Answer me, Pietro!"

"Whoa, whoa!" Peter leapt, and sped from his seated position to the opposite side of the bed. The object would be of no use as a protective barrier if Erik chose to use his powers against Peter, but it didn't seem to matter in the midst of confusion and rage. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"You didn't know you had a twin?" Erik fumed. "How could you _not_ know?"

Peter's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "Are you serious, old man?" His pubescent voice suffered a slight crack in his turmoil. "How _could_ I know. I was placed in foster care, remember? Last I checked," He pointed a finger at his head, and twirled a finger, "Babies don't have the greatest of track records when it comes to retaining memories!"

There was a sudden silence as that fact struck Erik speechless. The Cola machine just outside their motel door made a horrendous crunching sound that was definitely not from someone upset that it stole their change, and was accompanied by Erik's distressed expression. The older man let out a ragged breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and nearly missed the edge of the bed as he sat himself back down. His outstretched hand was the only thing that saved him from an embarrassing fall.

The metal-bender pinched the bridge of his nose painfully tight, and squeezed his eyes shut. "Of course," he acknowledged in a sigh.

Peter zipped back to Erik's side. He swiped at his flaring nostrils with the knuckle of his right hand before easing himself directly next to his father. He could feel the deep warmth of Erik's skin permeating through his cotton, Black Sabbath tee. He jostled Erik's leg in his haste to get beside him, but the older man didn't indicate that he noticed or cared.

"I have a sister? I have a _twin_ sister?" Peter's voice carried an awe that belied his age.

Erik gave the teen a curt nod.

"Dude, that's totally groovy!" Peter fought the childish urge to scramble onto his dad's lap, and demand the facts as a toddler would a bedtime story. "Is she older than me? Younger? Are we, like, minutes or hours apart? Does she have silver hair too? She's not taller, is she? She _can't_ be taller. Oh, man! What about her powers? Does she even _have_ powers? What are they? They're not cooler than mine, though, are they? That would be a total bummer. Wait, what's her name again?"

With a speed that shocked Peter to his core, Erik had brought up a hand from where it rested on his thigh, and slapped it over the teen's running mouth. It irked the boy more so when it dawned on him that Erik hadn't even turned in his seat or even moved his head to look.

"There's another."

Peter's lips moved underneath the rough palm, but emitted no sound. His dark gray brows rose precariously high. Erik felt the flesh under his hand quirk, so he pulled it away with a deliberately slow movement (lest the childish antics of the teen be further proved by palm licking.) "Another twin?"

Erik used his years of practiced meditation to refrain from rolling his eyes. He was afraid he'd sprain something from how hard he wanted to do so. "That would make you triplets." He could almost taste _dear_ at the end, but it was too warmhearted and frightfully reminded him of English accented words tinged with mirth and affection. Instead he just added: "A girl. A younger sister."

The teen's eyes widened. Reminiscent to their first meeting, he mouthed "wow" to the air in astonishment. A smirk graced his now amused countenance. "Man...been busy-o, Magneto?"

It was a testament to his father's off-kilter state of mind when Erik could only offer a single, slightly raised brow, a minuscule shrug, and a self-deprecating, "Apparently."

Peter let loose a low, appreciative whistle, and slapped his father's back once.

* * *

**TBC...**  
**Please Review.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

Amidst enthusiastic protestations, Erik resumed his search for the reality-bending mutant. Although the man desperately wanted to find his daughters, he felt a genuine need to recruit what he believed was a potentially powerful mutant. Erik couldn't let the opportunity pass with the other mutant so desperately close, and only Peter at his side.

"Stop pouting," Erik sighed for the fifth time. He didn't even bother to look over at the teen anymore. The full lips, in all their pursed and childish glory, were easily visible from the corner of his eye. He smoothed out his right brow with his index finger.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Peter said sullenly.

Erik felt his face contort into one of mild disbelief. "Peter," he started in puzzlement, "You're a thief. I don't believe you would know a 'good idea' if it hit you at a hundred miles-per-hour."

There was a brief pause, before the teen grumbled, "I can run faster than that."

Erik's lips thinned as he looked heavenward. "That is not..." He disbelievingly trailed off, and shook his head slowly. "Peter, that was not my point." When the teen didn't offer any reaction in return, Erik opted for a different tactic. "Did I not tell you I would try to include you on my intended strategies?" He frowned, and looked askance when Peter didn't indicate he was listening. However, when the teen felt his father's familiar, steely-eyed gaze, he acknowledged him with a slight nod of his head. "Well, here is the new intention. We are going to recruit this mutant, and then we are going to find your sisters. We need to think of the Brotherhood, and how it could aide us in finding the girls."

That caught Peter's attention. Erik could have sworn he saw the teen's ears literally prick up at the name. "The Brotherhood?" He pulled up his knees, and folded one underneath himself as he turned to face his father. "Is that what we're going to be known as?"

Erik, eyes trained on the town ahead of them, nodded curtly. He appeared hesitant before he cocked an eyebrow, and risked asking, "What do you think?"

Peter's previous glower evaporated in a heartbeat. He grinned widely, and pushed some of his silvery hair behind his ear. "I think we should be called the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants."

Unimpressed, Erik carefully swerved around a pothole as he said, "We are not _evil_, Peter. We are not the villains, here."

"Then who is?"

"Humans."

The bitterness laced in that one, simple word was like a physical blow. Peter pulled back, his elbow smacking the passenger door frame. "Okay," he said simply.

They didn't continue the topic, or resume speaking, but the car ride was far from being a completely silent one. Peter began rapping his knuckles against his clothed knee, while he noisily exhaled whenever a particular dusty gust of wind kicked up and into his partially rolled down window. The car's engine rumbled and purred, as the easy breeze toyed with the collar of Erik's shirt, and ruffled the sheath of papers Erik had carefully placed in the back seat.

Just as they reached the very edge of town, Erik pulled off the side of the road and put the vehicle in park. He idly unbuckled his seat with a flick of his wrist, and reached into the back to grab the papers. He pulled himself back into his seat, and started to flick through the documents until he found a neatly cut out article that had piqued his interest.

The clipping, accompanied with a black and white photo, was in reference to the strange sightings that the townspeople have claimed to have seen on the outskirt of their hometown. According to the account, many people had been committed by family members to an out of state asylum because of their desperate belief in what they had seen and their refusal to believe in the normal, so-called reality of everyone else. The people of the unincorporated community were attempting to rally outside government officials to swoop in and deal with their presumably mutant problem. The word "alien" had lost its luster when mutants were officially introduced into the picture.

The townspeople feared for their lives, the lives of their families, and the loss of their sanity. Many claimed that they had seen people off, and when they had returned, they were wide-eyed and babbling messes spouting wild tales of the crazy and outrageous things they had witnessed.

Erik's eyes drifted from the printed words to the small photo. It was of a relatively meager bunker embedded into a sand dune. It didn't appear to be made of much, or even able to handle anything more than a dust storm. The caption underneath the picture stated that many believed the source of the insanity to live there. People had refused to get any closer to officially find out.

The metal-bender raised his attentive gaze from the paper to the dirt-smeared windshield. His vision hampered by the filthy glass, he opened the car door with a twitch of his fingers, and stepped out into the blindingly white sun. He squinted, and raised a hand to his eyes. Instead of bothering to ask his son for his help, Erik motioned with his free hand towards the interior of the car. The glove compartment popped open, and smacked Peter's extended thigh. The teen grimaced until he saw the pair of sunglasses float out and into the air. They landed gently into Erik's outstretched hand.

"That's so cool," the teen whispered.

Erik suppressed a smirk at the other's awe, and easily slipped on the pair of glasses. He scanned the town before him, and the desert around them. When nothing caught his eye, he leaned down and reached for the article he had left on his vacated seat. He allowed the sunglasses to slip to the tip of his nose so that he could get a better view of the photograph.

"Hey, Erik?" Peter's voice sounded vaguely amused. Erik ignored him.

He looked at the picture, and then back to the surrounding desert. No landmark was visible in either photo or his immediate area to help indicate where he should start to look. Erik briefly wished he had the capability of a certain old friend of his, but he banished the thought as soon as it flitted across his mind. The telepath had made his choice. And so had he.

"Earth to Erik," Peter tried again in a singsong tone of voice.

With a suppressed growl, Erik bent at the waist until he was able to look into the car. "What?"

Peter wasn't looking at his father, but was pressing his nose against the part of the window pane he hadn't put down all the way. He lifted a hand, and pointed to a motorcyclist a solid distance away from them. He turned his head and smiled cheekily. "I think I found our guy."

It took a moment for Erik to understand why the bike rider had to have been their mutant. The bike wasn't real. Aside from the obvious lack of noise, which they would have easily heard no matter how far away the other appeared to be, Erik could sense no metal underneath the mutant's body. Either someone had made a motorcycle without using a single bit of metal, or the mutant was using his powers to create the illusion that he was riding on a bike.

Erik raised his hand, long fingers splayed out in the air, and tried to connect with anything the mutant could have been wearing. Nothing happened. He crumpled the article in his other hand, and tossed it into the car as he slid in behind the wheel. His right hand hovered above the stick shift, and pushed forward. The car jerked as it was released from it's stationary position and began to roll forward without the brakes to hold it back.

Erik wrapped his left hand around the steering wheel while his right stayed raised and in the direction of their mutant target. As he turned the wheel, he scowled and lowered his hand to his side. "No metal on him."

Peter quirked a brow. "You want me to chase him down?"

Erik shook his head. "No. It's too open out here. While I don't think anyone will happen upon us, I don't want to risk having any witnesses. Let's try to recruit our first member without a human riot, shall we? We'll just follow him."

"Wow," Peter bobbed his head up and down. "How very diplomatic of you."

Erik ignored the sarcastic jibe. He completed the steady turn, the wheels losing traction against sand and gravel, until he used his powers to steady the vehicle and give it an extra _oomph_ to get it moving. He reached down to grab the stack of papers he had left in the space between his seat and the shift, and handed it to Peter. The teen tossed them over his shoulder without a glance.

Erik's scowl deepened when he heard his meticulously ordered documents bounce then slide of the backseat, but he didn't spare the boy a glance. "I don't think he's noticed us. Keep an eye on him."

They drove over bumpy rocks and soft sand, and whenever Erik felt the car beginning to stall against the elements, he would give it a little push with his powers.

Peter rolled his window down further, pulled on his goggles, and stuck his head out like a dog seeking the pleasure of a whipping breeze.

"Go faster!"

With the anticipation building, Erik felt his lips curl up and around his unusually toothy grin. With another surge of his ability, he complied to the teen's jubilant order.

* * *

**TBC...**

**Please Review.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

* * *

Erik absently rubbed a hand over the twin, misshapen circles on his neck. The scars were a dark shade of pink, and stood out against the slight tan of Erik's usually pale skin. They were starting to burn and ache under the brazen light of the overhead sun beating down upon him. He gently cupped his hand, and tried to keep the stinging sweat from the fringes of his hair from rolling down against them.

"I think I found his hidey-hole," Peter announced as he simply appeared by Erik's side. The older man was leaning against the hood of the car, his long legs crossed at the ankles. Peter mimicked his father's position, sans the hand on his neck. He folded his arms across his chest and indicated the expanse of dust and sand in front of them with a jut of his chin. "I'd say a few miles thataway."

"Anyone else in the area?" Erik's shade-covered eyes scanned the indicated direction.

Peter shook his head roughly. "Nope." He ran a hand through his sweat-soaked silver locks. "I passed his place a couple of times. It's just some bunker in a sand dune. But when he got there, it turned into some rundown cabin. Totally creepy looking. Like he doesn't want people around."

Erik gave a curt nod. "That's our mutant." He pulled his lean form off the hood, and rounded the vehicle. "Get in. It's time we said hello."

Peter was already seated inside by the time Erik reached the driver side door. Erik didn't even bat an eye. He just neatly slipped into his seat, and started the engine with a twist of his wrist.

"So, how do you wanna approach this?" Peter was practically humming with excitement. "Do you want to knock on the door while I zip up behind him?" The teen made a karate chopping motion.

Erik couldn't help an amused smirk. "We're not caveman, Peter."

The teen visibly deflated.

"We're going to offer him an opportunity, and hope he takes it."

"This blows," Peter griped.

"_This_ is how things are going to go, young man." Erik was proud at how paternal he managed to sound. He was still struggling with the idea that Peter was his biological son, and had yet to show the affection the teen so obviously craved from a father figure. The fact that there were two other children out in the world that were his subconsciously ratcheted his level of anxiety. He could barely be a father to Peter; how was he going to be a father to two others?

Erik had a deep sense of melancholy at the thought that he would always feel this way. He desperately wanted to be the man a child would look up to. A man that _his_ children would look up to. He knew that what little pieces of his soul that remained after escaping Shaw (the first time) was torn to shreds when his little Anya was killed. Any hope of rekindling it was bereft when Magda left him in a mixture of fear and horror. So, he hoped that what he was made into today would simply be enough.

His heavy foray into his memories and inner introspection was put on hold when Peter tapped him on the shoulder to indicate they should slow down. Erik looked up and could see the outline of a desolate cabin; it was covered in green forestry that belied the surrounding, barren desert.

The rotted, wooden planks looked to be haphazardly nailed back into place from where they had fallen. The half of the tin-covered roof nearest to their approaching vehicle was caved in. Wild, twisting and interlocking vines wrapped around the jagged edges of the building's covering. It looked like a place to be avoided, despite the intriguing oddity of it.

Erik rolled the car to a stop, and parked it. He used his hand to physically turn the car off, and stared up at the building several yards away from them. He fought to tamper the nerves he felt welling inside him, and was silently disgusted for being unable to remove himself from feeling such acute emotions. The mutant prided himself on his aloofness, and always rebuked himself for allowing such basic _human_ emotions to overwhelm him at times.

Despite having his son along, the metal-bender still felt as if he was doing his first recruitment on his own. The lack of a certain, cherubic-face old friend certainly didn't help ease that feeling. He could almost hear the soft _clink_ of glass toasting glass, almost taste the bittersweetness of heady whine, nearly feel a luxuriously thick comforter underneath his backside. The memory was chased away by a distant, free-and-easy laugh.

"Erik? Dude, are we going to do something today or..." Peter trailed off, and peered up at his musing father's stoic face.

"Come." The demand sounded oddly more Germanic than usual.

They stepped out of the vehicle simultaneously. The sweltering heat cloaked them in a sheen of sweat as they rounded the car together, and stared down the sandy runes to the eradicated cabin. Erik made his way forward without a word, and was pleased to note that Peter had fallen obediently into step. It was about time the teenager start to learn his place.

The cushy mix of dirt and sand impeded their steady strides for a few paces until they managed to find a sure footing. It didn't take long for them to approach the building, and Peter eagerly looked up into his father's face when the older man raised a hand and soundly knocked on the entrance.

Erik was silently glad that the door didn't come flying off its worn and decayed hinges at his forceful knock when a faint rumble interrupted that thought, and caused the duo to look at one another in curiosity. Erik used his powers to slowly turn the knob, and he stepped in with his jaw set and his shoulders squared.

"Hello?"

The interior stunned Erik as he took another step inside. It was as equally run-down and dilapidated at its exterior, which wasn't shocking, but it was ridiculously small. Comically so. There was no space to maneuver any part of one's body without literally running into the heedlessly placed furniture. Erik furrowed his brow in confusion when another step forward caused him to bump into a three-legged table, and it promptly crumbled to the ground in a puff of splinters and dust before disappearing completely. Nothing remained in its place to indicate it was ever there.

"Cool trick," Erik called aloud. He lifted his hand and waggled his fingers. The original building that they were truly standing within, the bunker made of concrete and metal, grumbled as he teased the framework that held it together."Would you like to see mine or would you rather come out and talk?"

Peter, who had remained shockingly silent as he closely followed in his father's footsteps, smiled cheekily at the subtle taunt. He poked at a rusted sink pipe, and watched in fascination as it simply ceased to exist. "Groovy," he drawled happily.

Erik turned on the heel of his shoe to see what his son was getting into, and was pleasantly shocked to find a raven-haired young man standing directly behind the teen. Erik couldn't suppress a grin as he stepped forward with a hand extended for a shake. "Hello. I'm Erik Lehnsherr, and this is Peter. We're here to talk to you about-"

Erik abruptly cut himself off when the mutant's unnerving gaze, which had been resting on Peter's shoulder, snapped to meet his own. Just as Erik opened his mouth to continue, the mutant cocked his head to the side and suddenly decapitated the shorter teen standing before him.

The metal-bender's throat painfully seized as his stomach lurched, and his eyes widened in abject horror. He couldn't seem to understand what had just occurred. He couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that his son's head lolled across the floor while his murderer stood behind him with a interested expression across his face.

Erik forced himself out of his surprise, and let loose a hoarse and wild yell as he raised his hands and used his raging energy to pull out the beams of the bunker wall. The cabin facade blinked away, and left the two standing inside an empty and all concrete room. Not at all phased by the sudden change of scenery, Erik threw his hands forward and forcefully wrapped his beloved metal around the mutant's legs, abdomen, and throat.

He desperately wanted to kill the other man; wanted to pierce the bronze skin with every sliver of available alloy until every individual pore on the smirking mutant seeped with cherry red blood. But he stumbled forward, and dropped to his knees in front of his son's body instead. His limbs ached and trembled as he slowly reached out and touched the back of his son's prone form.

Then he felt the tears. They carved warm rivers of dirt down his dust-streaked face. With his opposite hand, he touched his cheek and pulled it away to see the wetness on his fingertips. As he stared at his fingers in curiosity, knowing something was very wrong in his actions but unable to force his body and mind to align properly, the sound of crashing waves made him look up.

Erik couldn't move when his lean frame was physically slammed to the unforgiving ground by a powerfully strong current of water. He struggled to pull himself back up, to resume the contact he had made with his son, but wave after wave of frothy water lifted and slammed him down again. He choked and sputtered as it forced its way down his throat.

The man knew, deep down inside, that this wasn't right. The other mutant was obviously controlling his reality, but he couldn't seem to make his brain understand the concept as he was dragged underneath the rising tide. His body traitorously convulsed as he fought to break the surface, and get some very much needed air. It didn't take very long for Erik to feel his eyelids grow heavy, and finally flutter close as he lost the battle with his consciousness. He thought it odd, despite his rocky relationship with his son, that it was the boy's voice he heard clear as day as he slipped into the welcoming darkness.

"Dad!"

* * *

**TBC...**

**Please Review.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

* * *

Peter struggled against his tight, metal bindings to no avail. He had been stunned when Erik's countenance took on an ashen appearance, and then bewildered when his father released a pained cry that tore at his heart. The concrete bunker had groaned as the metal support was torn out, and then sent in his direction. The shock that had finally silenced the talkative teenager turned to genuine fear when Peter realized that the metal-wielder was directing his power towards _him_. The teen was too surprised to summon his own ability as his father encased him in the alloy.

It didn't take long for the teenager to understand that the mutant must have convinced Erik that his son was the enemy. Whether that was the case, or something similar, the teen couldn't be absolutely sure. The one thing Peter _was_ sure about was that his father hadn't decided to kill him outright. That was the only inkling of gratefulness the teen could muster in his current predicament.

Peter watched in awe as his father stumbled towards him, and then promptly fell to his knees. "Dad!" The older man didn't appear to hear him as he reached out with a trembling hand, and touched the top of a chunk of concrete. Tears streaked his face as he grievously stared down at the jagged rock.

Suddenly, his father was thrown by an invisible force. "Dad!" He called out again, watching as his father valiantly fought against an imagined foe. The older man fell onto his back with a pained grunt; tossed like he weighed nothing at all. Blood, bright red and wet, smeared across the ground as a particularly hard twist brought his father's head down hard.

"Damn it," Peter growled as he glared down at his restraints. He was suddenly startled to hear the distinct sounds of choking, and looked up to see his father thrashing on the solid ground. "Dad?!" The manipulated metal dug into his alabaster skin as he twisted in vain. The older man struggled to drag in air, and was oblivious to his son's shouts.

The mutant, having stood behind Peter, rounded the teen's bound form. He barely looked at Peter as he crossed the small distance between them and Erik. He crouched beside the struggling metal-bender with an odd expression of disinterest and pride. His long, raven hair brushed against Erik's reddening cheeks as he leaned closer. "He's drowning," the mutant stated.

Peter's eyes bulged at the news. "Well, throw him a lifeline!"

The other man stood, and brushed away a clod of dirt from his shin. "No," he sighed. "I don't think so. My people have wanted to be left in peace for many years," he brought his dark eyes up to the teen, "And it seems nobody heeds our warnings."

"Dude, we only wanted to talk to you!" Peter muffled a cry as he caught a glimpse of his father from around the young mutant's body. The older man didn't appear to be conscious anymore. "C'mon, just let him go, and we'll split from this asylum!"

The mutant tilted his head to the side. His silky hair moved with the motion with incredible ease. "Everybody wants to talk...To ask questions...To place their noses where they don't belong."

Peter couldn't help a chill from causing gooseflesh to erupt across his skin. He tightened his jaw, and narrowed his eyes at the other before him. "Just do it already!" The stillness of his father hadn't missed his attention. The man lie on the ground; his mouth was parted in a failed attempt to bring life to his aching lungs. "If he's dead," the teen ground out between clenched teeth, "Then you better kill me too. Otherwise, you'll regret every breath I could breathe that my father couldn't."

The other mutant raised a sole eyebrow. "That's very big talk for someone unable to do anything about it." The tone was dry, and emotionless.

"He might not, but we can."

Peter's eyes shot to the front of the bunker, while the other man turned on his heel in curiosity. He was shocked to see two humans standing in the door frame. They hadn't made a sound to indicate their arrival, and he supposed that was the point. The youngest of the mismatched pair, a little girl that couldn't have been more than ten years of age, took a falsely confident step forward. The man with her, wearing a long pea-coat in the ridiculous heat, grinned after her.

The teen couldn't immediately tell if the pair were mutants, but his question was put to rest when the youngest of the duo squeezed her eyes shut and let loose a concussive blast that sent the raven-haired mutant on his back. Peter felt the breeze tickle his cheekbones as he teetered back a few steps before falling down himself with a surprised o_omph_.

"Oops," the girl said in worry as she rushed to his side. She threw herself down, wincing when her bony knees made contact with the concrete. She peered at him with large, green eyes before turning back to her companion. "Jase? Would you mind?" She jerked her head to the moaning mutant lying a few feet beside them. She turned back to Peter. "Hi."

The young man strode toward them. He lifted the mutant off the floor by grasping the collar of his shirt, and then delivered a punch to the other man's chin, effectively knocking him out cold. Jase released his tight grip, and watched in mild amusement as the other slumped to the ground. He idly scratched at his wiry, neatly-trimmed mutton chops.

"Can you get me out of these?" Peter asked as he resumed his earlier struggle. Erik had yet to draw a visible breath, and the teen was beginning to think his father had actually drowned in his imagined world. "Please?"

"I can try," the girl said with hesitation. "I'm still kind of new to this." She stood and took a few steps back. With a pink tongue peeking out, she lifted both of her hands and started to move and twist them in the air. The metal groaned as it slowly unwound from his body.

As soon as he was free, Peter blinked from their view only to reappear by his father's side. He took hold on one of the man's broad shoulders, and gave a shake. "Dad?" He leaned down and pressed his ear just above his father's mouth. The faintest of breath brushed across his lobe, and he grinned. "He's still breathing."

The girl smiled at his exuberance, and slowly stood. "Awesome. Does that mean he's going to okay, Jason?" Her smile faltered at the possible implication of any other outcome.

"We'll have to get him out of here, and take a better look, bunny." He pulled at the cuff of his thick jacket, and huffed. "It's too hot to discuss anything more here."

Peter audibly scoffed as he spared the man a glance. "You think, Charles Dickens? We're in a _desert_, man." After a haughty expression was his only reply, Peter rolled his eyes and motioned towards his unconscious father. "At least give me a hand."

Despite clearly not wanting to lift more than a pinky, Jason made his way over and knelt down on the opposite side of the teen. He placed a hand under Erik's knee and another under his arm, before motioning with his head for Peter to do the same. When the teenager complied, he asked, "Ready?"

"Ready."

"I'll start the car," the girl said as she practically skipped towards the entrance.

"Once we get situated," Peter grunted under the weight of his father as he stood, "You're going to have to tell me why you're traveling around with a little kid."

"Not that it's any of your business," Jason snapped, breath equally as uneven, "But she pretty much adopted me-" Peter's snort interrupted him, but he continued, "As an older brother or guardian." They turned and maneuvered through the door with Erik between them. The harsh sun glinted off the roof of their car. "We heard about mutant factions forming, and thought we tried to find them."

"You found us instead." Peter glanced up and let loose a sigh. "Thanks, by the way."

"Thank the kid," was his reply as they passed her waiting by the open back-door. They none-too-gently manhandled Erik's slumped form into the back seat. When they finally situated him, they pulled away with twin ragged breaths. "Let's go before the other one wakes up."

"I'll drive," Peter suggested as he rounded the back of the vehicle.

"No, I will." The older man glared over the hood of the car.

"We'll get there faster if I do," Peter argued. He placed his hands atop the car, and winced at the heat his palms met with. "Trust me."

"You don't know where we're going," the girl replied. Peter couldn't see her from where he stood, but he glared in her general direction.

Jason laughed and tousled her hair. "Kid's right. C'mon, we're wasting time. Your old man needs a place to rest, and that other guy didn't seem quite keen on us barging in on his party."

Peter scowled as he stalked back to the other side of the car. He pointed at Jason as the man moved to the driver's side. "Fine, but I get to control the radio."

* * *

**TBC...**

**Please Review.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

* * *

"Are you hungry?"

Peter's flat expression animated at the sudden question. His unfocused gaze snapped towards the open doorway. A pair of inquisitive green eyes, belonging to to his apparent savior, hooded in shyness at the swift attention. The teen blinked once, hard, and then shook his head.

"No." He sat atop the cushioned arm of a maroon recliner he had pushed from underneath the sole bay window. Jason and himself had placed his father on the bedroom's queen-sized bed an hour earlier, where Peter had since then trained his eyes on the slow rise-and-fall of his father's chest. The older man had yet to stir, and every passing minute that he didn't made Peter all the more anxious.

The little girl frowned. She raised metal-bending hands to the long hair that was resting over her shoulder, and began to twist a few strands between her thin fingers. "Are you sure? Jason always say-"

"Look," Peter couldn't quite keep the annoyance out his tone, "I'm not hungry." The girl, who had told him her name was Lorna, winced at his sharp tongue. Peter's unintentionally dark glare softened, and he sighed. "I'm sorry, Lorne. I'm just tired."

Her expression brightened microscopically. "And worried," she pointed out. Her voice, still highly-pitched with youth, was noticeably subdued but matter-of-fact in tone.

Peter's glower melted into a slight grimace. "Yeah, I guess I am."

The child seemed visibly puzzled by his choice of words, and took a steps further into the room. The room itself was pleasant enough for a couple days stay, but nothing remotely spectacular. The walls were a simple off-white; the thin carpet a charcoal gray. The furniture was all the same maroon color, with the exception of the room's standard dresser and night table. They were made of a polished oak. There was one bed, and two doors in this particular room. One door led to a bathroom, while the other led to a short hall that revealed an open space for a small kitchen, living, and dining area.

The child/adult duo had come across this relatively decent hotel when they had stopped for rest a town over, right before their impromptu rescue mission a day later. Jason had managed to convince the frumpy concierge that the large sum of cash he had forked over was actually real. It wasn't. Peter didn't enjoy the fact that he was impressed by the self-named Mastermind. The illusionist seemed pleased by the fact.

Currently, Peter could hear Jason preparing some food. He had left for supplies almost as soon as Erik's lolling head hit the crisp pillowcase, and had only just returned with nourishments. The rustling of plastic bags nearly drowned out the sounds of Erik's slow and deep breaths, but Peter strained to catch the soft puffs to convince himself the other man was still alive.

Lorna's sneakers, scuffling against the floor as she shuffled forward, caught Peter's attention. He dragged his eyes away from his father's chest to her face. He noticed little details that he hadn't seen before. Her hair, for example, was very clearly dyed and recently so. The teen couldn't make out the original color, but could see the telltale smudges of brown dye against the girl's temple and at the nape of her neck where her long hair didn't quite cover.

He had seen that her eyes were green earlier, but hadn't noticed how incredibly bright they were. It was almost unnatural, and more than a little unnerving. They were lime-green orbs that appeared large in comparison to the rest of her facial features. Peter assumed it was because she was still growing into her body. Either way, they were fascinating to stare into.

"You have awesome eyes," he found himself proclaiming.

They widened in surprise at the praise, then creased when she smiled toothily. There was an adorable gap between her two front teeth. "Thanks."

"Sure." The teen dug his heels against the floor, and used the position to launch himself into the seat. He bounced with the force, before settling with a grin. "Come on in. Tell me how you and this _Mastermind_ met." The sarcastic edge to his voice didn't deter the girl from racing over to his side. She scrambled over the arm of his recliner, and perched happily with swinging legs.

"I ran away from my foster home," she started before a slight hitch of her breath caused Peter to cock his head to the side. He was almost sure she was going to start crying until she faintly stated, "I shouldn't have said that."

It took Peter a moment longer than necessary to realize that she was worried about him turning her in. The thought was ludicrous, and he found himself laughing aloud. If only she knew the sort of things he got into. "I'm not going to tell anyone, Lorne," he reassured her.

She still appeared a little put off by his laughter, but her slight grin returned to her cherubic face. "I have to be careful about what I say. My foster siblings always tattled on me, even when I didn't do anything. I think it was because of my hair. They didn't like it. So, I guess they didn't like me."

"Aw, c'mon." Peter shifted in his seat before he reached up and touched a tendril of her naturally straight hair. "I bet it looked gorge, and they were just jealous." He rubbed the strands between the knuckles of his fingers. "What color is it really?"

It was Lorna's turn to shift, but for different reasons. She was at the tender age where girls became highly self-conscious about their appearance, and how others reacted. Despite being a blunt and crass teenage boy, Peter knew this without a doubt. "Hey," he chuffed, and pointed at his own silver locks. "Mine isn't exactly all-natural either."

"I see it," she giggled. "I dig it." She picked at a few wispy strands of her own, and stared down at it. "Mine was green. Like, dark green. It was weird."

Peter shrugged. "That's not weird at all." He exaggerated the waggle of his gray eyebrows. "I think it's actually kind of _groovy_."

Lorna placed a hand over her mouth, and stifled a snort. "Totally far out, right?"

"Yeah," Peter drawled. "Outta sight, even."

"Sick."

Peter laughed. "Yeah, sick."

"I _feel_ sick," a deeper voice intoned from the door. The pair simultaneously looked to see Jason standing in the hall. He had one brow cocked in derision. "Come eat, bunny."

She sighed, and acted as if sliding off the arm of the recliner was a laborious task. She slunk past her pseudo-older brother with a mirthful grin. He returned the expression and added a playful tap to the back of her head, before turning and narrowing his eyes on the teen. "You joining?"

"No," Peter purposelessly snorted. "Wouldn't it be just _awful_ if I did?"

Peter's obvious attempt at a posh tone of voice didn't go pass the other mutant. "Are you making fun of me, kid? I'm pretty sure we just saved your asses."

Using his ability, Peter zipped behind the taller mutant. He tapped the man's shoulder and grinned up at him. When the older man scowled and made to lunge at him, the teenager zipped back to his original position in the recliner. He held a sandwich in his hand, and was happily munching when he pretended to only just realize that Jason was glaring at him.

"Hello, old chap."

"You're a brat," Jason growled before turning on his heel and leaving.

Peter snorted, and cast a glance toward his father. The man didn't seem to be moving anytime soon, so Peter decided to join the others. He raced out of the room, and sat next to the surprised Lorna. He grinned at her, and nabbed a chip from her paper plate. She giggled infectiously.

"I thought you weren't joining us," Jason stated in clipped tones as he took his seat across the little girl. His gleaming white teeth tore into the soft bread.

Peter shrugged. "Clearly, I changed my mind."

Before Jason could offer any other retort, Peter nudged Lorna with his shoulder in a playful manner. "Hey, you didn't get to finish your story."

Lorna swiped at a stray crumb with the back of her hand from her lips. Jason frowned at her motion, but had his mouth full of food and was unable to chastise her. "I tried to pickpocket Jason, but the wallet wasn't real. He's a real mastermind," she said with a scrunched up nose. "He bought me food, and I accidentally used my powers to lift up a fork. So, he told me to stick with him. I didn't have anywhere else to go," she shrugged, and popped another chip in her mouth, "So I stayed."

They continued eating for a little while longer, until Lorna finished off the last of her sandwich and proceeded to tug on the sleeve of Peter's tee. "Hey, Pie-" Her face flushed red, and she clamped her free hand over her mouth. Her eye twitched at her failing attempt to not giggle.

Peter threw his head back and laughed. "I guess you're ready for dessert, huh?"

She nodded vigorously. "I wanted to say Peter, but pie came out instead."

"Peter Pie," the teen crowed. He licked at his plump lips. "Sounds delicious."

Jason rolled his eyes, and pushed his chair away from the table. He gathered his empty plate, and snagged Lorna's as well. As he made his way to the kitchen, Lorna tugged on Peter's sleeve again. "Hey, Pie," she grinned, "What powers does your daddy have? Does he do the same thing you do?"

Peter's formulating grin at the girl's nickname lasted for mere seconds before something clicked in his mind. The child was clearly female. She was from a foster home. She was also around the same age as one of the two girls they were searching for. And, what really made the teen rigid in his seat, she was a magnetic manipulator. Exactly like Erik was. Peter's eyes widened at the possible implication.

"Peter?" Lorna's green orbs grew large in worry. "Are you okay?"

"There's no way," he breathlessly claimed.

* * *

**TBC...**

**Please Review.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

* * *

Jason crumpled up the two paper plates he held in his hands, and tossed them into the plastic trash bin. He ran a hand over his whiskers, in hopes of shaking out any crumbs of food that may have gotten stuck, when he overheard his charge ask the annoying teenager if he was okay. With a frown, Jason stepped around the kitchen island that separated the dining room from the kitchen and folded his arms across his narrow chest.

"Bunny, something wrong?"

The little girl turned in her seat, and looked back at him with ridiculously large eyes. Her small hands gripped the back of the chair she sat on in an impossibly tight grip. "I think I broke him," she exclaimed in awe. She faced the teen again, and stared.

Jason rolled his eyes as he rested his hip against the corner of the countertop. He found himself doing that more and more when in the presence of the teenage mutant. He waved a hand in the air as he claimed, "He was already broken when we found him, Lorna. "

"Dude," Peter drawled in a dumbfounded voice. "I think- I'm pretty sure- You're my sister."

Jason's normally stoic facade faltered as his eyebrows shot up. Lorna's mouth drooped until it was gaping towards the teen. Jason gathered his resolve faster than the little girl, and ignored the want to snort. "I don't think that is possible."

"Oh, it's totally possible." The teen began ticking off his upheld fingers as he said, "She's adopted. She's about the right age. She can control metal. Like her dad. Like _my _dad." Peter grinned up towards the skeptical man. "It fits, man!"

A retort was ready on Jason's lips when it slowly dawned on him; he didn't know any mutants that could control metal except for the one: the infamous Magneto that was set to kill the President of the United States on live television not very long ago. It wasn't as if it was impossible for others to have some of the same mutations, but there was something to what the teen was saying. There were too many things that made sense as he continued to excitedly speak.

"We were looking for you! It _has_ to be you!" Peter's eyes twinkled in his happiness. It was hard to not feel the genuine excitement that rolled off him.

Lorna's shy grin blossomed into an overbearingly happy smile. "I have a brother! Jase, I have a brother! And a dad!" Her eyes widened. "I have a dad, and a brother. I have a family!"

Jason stifled any comments he felt arise, and simply offered a small smile for her. It wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility, but he didn't want to encourage her hopes and later see them dashed by too many coincidences. He turned his back on the jubilant pair, and stalked off towards the kitchen. His meager sandwich didn't quite fill him up, and he figured he could whip up a dessert to celebrate their happiness, and to keep himself busy.

* * *

With a sharp gasp, Erik's eyes flew open and he attempted to pull himself into an upright position. The sudden move dizzied the man, and he slumped back against the pillows behind his head with a slight pant. He raised a trembling hand to his face, and vigorously rubbed his right eye. He had an impressively sharp headache that seemed to originate in that specific area. When he pulled his shaky appendage away, his weary eyes caught sight of his long and smooth fingers.

He frowned and pulled himself up onto his elbows; his eyes narrowing on his fingers with renewed focus. They looked normal, and it bothered him. They should have been shriveled and pruned after the amount of time he spent being pummeled by water. Erik pushed himself back against the headboard; a thick pillow that was more for decoration than comfort cushioned his aching spine.

Erik looked down at his clothing, and was disturbed to see that they were no more wrinkled than they were earlier. They didn't feel stiff; as they would have had they been soaked in water and then air dried. No, they felt the same. His prismatic eyes drifted from his long torso to his legs to the closed door of his hotel room. Where he could clearly hear laughter on the other side.

Erik's eyes widened in alarm. "Peter!" He threw his legs over the side of the bed, nearly toppled over in his haste, and threw open the bedroom door without physically touching it. The metal-wielder had no idea that the distance between the opposite wall and the door were literally within two feet of each other. He also didn't even know that there was a wall there. Which was his brief, mental excuse to himself as he ran face first into it, and stumbled back with a Germanic curse.

The blindingly white bursts of pain dissipated as he turned on his heel, and stumbled down the short hall, one hand braced against the surface for support. He pulled himself up short when Jason cautiously stepped around the corner. The younger man was wielding a knife, and Erik's panic doubled at the flash of metal. He reached out with his hand, and used his ability to yank the object out of the man's hand, and embed it in the wall with a soft _thunk_.

"Whoa, whoa," Jason held up his hands in a non-threatening gesture as the older man bore down on him in a nearly fanatic state. Blood was dripping down his pale face, and his pupils were blown wide in a side effect of a more than possible concussion.

"Where's my son!" Erik snarled. He tightened his grip on the man's lapels, and pulled him clean off the floor. He turned with the man in his hands, and slammed him against the wall. With both of his hands holding the younger mutant off the floor, Erik used his power to pull the knife out of the wall and point it at the other's face. "_Where_!?"

"Dad!" Peter raced to his father's side, and placed a hand on the older man's bicep. "I'm here. It's okay." Peter gently patted the rigid muscle underneath his hand. "I'm here."

Erik's unfocused gaze tore itself off of the mutant against the wall to the teenager at his side. The indents between his brows deepened, and his mouth slackened in his confusion. He knew he wanted his son, but he didn't believe his child was really there. He didn't believe his son was still alive. But there he was, concern radiating off of him so strongly it was as if Erik was the telepath and he could feel the deep swell of worry from the teen.

Erik released his hold on the mutant in front of him, and didn't bother to see where the knife clattered on the floor. He inquisitively looked down at the hand on his arm, and adopted a puzzled expression as he traced his gaze from the hand to his son's face.

_Alive, he's alive. My son, he's here. He's alive. _

The metal-bender tentatively reached out a hand and cupped Peter's smooth cheek in his calloused hand. The concerned expression on the teen's face melted away into one of understanding. He had almost pulled away from the unfamiliar touch, but his father needed to see he truly was okay, and he secretly wanted the affection.

"Pie?" The soft question emanated from directly behind the teenager.

Peter turned sideways, and offered Erik a clear view of Lorna. It was like a douse of liquid ice down Erik's back. He snapped his hand away, and took a faltered step back. He bumped into the mutant behind him, and made his way back into the bedroom. The breath in his lungs stuttered on its way out, and he felt the edges of darkness start to overwhelm him.

Erik stumbled and fell to his aching knees, one hand blindly clutching the comforter of the bed. He used the thick blanket to pull himself back to his feet, and used the momentum to turn and sit on the edge of the mattress. When he blinked away the spots in his vision, and managed to ease his breathing back to normal, he caught sight of his son standing in the doorway.

Peter zipped into the bedroom, and threw himself to his jean-clad knees by his father's side. "What happened? Are you alright?"

Erik's red-rimmed eyelids fluttered. His voice was rough and devoid of emotion. "This isn't real." His stern gaze was narrowed in on a spot on the carpeted floor.

Peter's sharp laugh startled him. "What are you talking about, dude? This is totally real. I'm real, you're real, she's real. Hey," He placed a hand on his father's knee, "Are you in shock? Do you need to do that heavy breathing into a bag thing? I don't think we have any brown bags. Does it have to be brown? What about that Lamaze stuff pregnant chicks do? He-he-hoo. He-he-hoo."

_The girl. The little girl and her brilliantly green eyes. Could she be his girl? What had Charles said about a girl with green eyes?_

"Erik," Peter's voice was tight. "That reality-bender isn't here. _We_ are."

Erik's eyes cautiously met the teen's brown ones. "We're here."

Peter nearly felt like he was speaking to a child. He met his father's stare head on and nodded vigorously. His next words felt slow, in stark contrast to his usual demeanor. "She looks like you, doesn't she?" Peter could now easily recall the crease-worn, yellowed photograph of his family. He had noted that he bore more of a resemblance to his mother than Erik. Having the two stand so close to one another made it easy to see how closely Lorna looked like her father. It was no wonder that Erik honed in on that at first glance. That, and her unique colored eyes.

Erik's expression, blank in his attempt to feel nothing, to _be_ nothing, slowly melted away as understanding dawned on him. His pragmatic brain haltingly came back online as he took hold of his bleeding emotions and fully looked into his son's dark eyes.

"She looks like you," Peter repeated. His hand, warm where it rested on Erik's knee, pressed down in an attempt to ground his father in reality. "She's real."

"That's her." Erik's voice was surprisingly controlled.

Having sensed his father was coming back to his self, Peter's previously tense posture loosened and relaxed. A wide, beam of a smile pulled his lips away from his teeth and his eyes lit with the eagerness of someone that had grand news. "Dude," Peter started, "That's your daughter."

The statement was followed by an excited puff of laughter.

And by Erik's completely floored expression.

* * *

**TBC...**

**Please Review.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

* * *

Erik sat on the edge of a cream-colored porcelain tub. The curved lip of the bathtub was slick with condensation from the hot water it was full with, but pleasantly cool underneath his bare thighs. A slight steam tickled his exposed back as he continued to sit on the ceramic in deep thought.

Peter had just told him that the little female version of himself was the young daughter he was in search of. Erik had refrained from pressing for more answers, and accepted the news as fact. The possibility of Lorna not being his child didn't even cross the metal-bender's mind. Her physicality was good enough to sate his myriad of questions for the next hour or so.

His son had sensed his need to be alone, and was shockingly compliant. Erik had expected the chatterbox to emerge and pepper him with every word the little girl had said to him from the second they had spoken to each other till her last uttered word several minutes before. But he was relieved to see his son eager to speak to the child herself, and not to him _about_ her.

The sudden coolness at his back jerked Erik to the present, and he glanced over his shoulder to the clear water below. It glistened back up at him in silence. Erik took a deep breath as he stood and fully turned to stare down at the harmless liquid. His focus was completely encompassed by the slight sway of the water as it simply sat in the tub.

Erik suddenly felt angry at himself. He was _not_ afraid of water. He was Magneto, for Christ's sake. This wasn't the first time that he and water had interacted. He could easily recall trying to lift a submarine from an ocean a decade ago, and a furry Beast holding him under this past year.

He tore off his briefs and kicked them to the side with jerky movements. He lifted a leg, hesitated when it hovered above the water for a second, and then plunged it into the warmth with bated breath. His skin felt tight against the tenseness of his muscles. He waited with almost held breath for the water to rise up and overtake him in its powerful embrace. The water did nothing more but lap at his calf from its sudden immersion, and Erik could feel the relief loosen his ridiculously rigid posture. He placed his second leg into the bathtub, and eased himself into a sitting position.

The tub wasn't long enough for Erik to comfortably stretch them out, so he kept them bent and spread wide. The pressure point in his knees started to ache from where they were pressed against the ceramic, but Erik ignored it in favor of closing his eyes and allowing the warmth to caress his skin.

The water was almost becoming soothing to the mutant. He leaned his head back, and rested it against the folded towel he had placed there earlier. It smelled like fresh detergent, and Erik resisted the urge to shift his head until his nose was pressed into the coarse fabric. Instead, he languidly rested his left hand above his navel, and his right just above that.

Erik let out a deep, contented sigh. He felt the water melt away the aches in his bones, and the worry from his mind. He almost laughed at how he had reacted when he had first dipped in leg in, but settled for a derisive wrinkle of his nose instead. The walls of the tub faded away behind his closed eyes, and he simply floated in the cocooning heat.

* * *

"Can you tell me about our mom?" Lorna seemed hesitant. Peter couldn't blame her. This was a lot to take in at her age, and she _had_ just witnessed the man that was supposedly her father run away with blood smeared across his face.

Peter tipped his head back against the top of the sofa. Lorna, standing behind him, giggled at his upside down face. "I wish I could, Lorne." He pulled his head back up when Lorna's amusement dissipated at his apparent lack of knowledge. "You and I have different moms though."

She rounded the couch, and plopped herself next to her newfound brother. Peter glanced over, and was reminded of the adoptive sister he had left behind. Suddenly feeling an overwhelming sadness at the loss of that relationship, he reached over and easily plucked the girl from her seat and placed her on his lap. She laughed and looked over her shoulder to see his beam.

He gently grasped her thin hips, and hauled her back to his side. She bounced atop the cushion, before promptly throwing her legs over his, and allowing him to drape his arm around her slender shoulders. "Can you tell me about our dad?"

Peter's beam faltered. "I can tell you what little I do know about him."

Confused, she peered up at him with her stunningly green eyes. Her dark hair brushed against his bare arm with the movement, and made him shiver at the ticklish sensation it provoked.

Peter, having seen the puzzled expression, let loose a beleaguered sigh. He wasn't at all annoyed with the little girl; she had done nothing to him. But the idea that he knew next to nothing about his own father bothered him. He had a few solid excuses as to why, but the past weeks traveling with Erik should have enlightened the teen to more facts about his father's life. It didn't.

"I don't know where to start," Peter admitted when Lorna's expectant gaze didn't waver from him. He offered her a meager shrug, and looked down at her now familiar face. So much like Erik's face. He thought of his own, and the mother he took after in looks. The photograph.

He grinned, and she mimicked the expression back. "I can start with the picture."

Sensing a story, Lorna shifted in place until she was more comfortable, and waiting for her brother to start his tale. Jason's dicing had resumed after his little altercation with Erik, and now filled the open space with his soft chops.

"So, one day I found this totally old picture when I was doing my chores. Right? Chores are a bummer, I know. I thought it was going to turn into dust if I touched it too hard. I showed my mom, the lady who adopted me, and she said that I had it ever since she picked me out. I thought maybe I had stolen it, because I do do that. Steal things. Like cigarettes, shoes, chocolate. You know? That kind of stuff. Not really huge things. I stole a car once. That was awesome."

The chopping had stopped, and Jason cleared his throat. Peter realized he was rambling, and was secretly amused that Jason had apparently been listening in. The sound resumed when Peter continued. "Anyway, I couldn't really do anything with the picture. But one day these three dudes come to my house and say I need to help them break out the man who killed the President from the Pentagon."

"No _way_," Lorna gasped.

"_Right_? So, we go in and do some awesome bad-assery. I'm talking diversions, costume changes, the whole deal. Right? I go, like, a million feet underground where they're keeping this dude and I'm dressed like a security guard. Totally awesome. I put my hands on the glass, like this," He lifted his hands straight up into the air, palms facing the opposite direction, "And I use my power to break the glass."

The chopping had stopped again, and was instead followed by feet rounding the counters and striding towards them. Jason appeared in their line of sight, and leaned his hip against the dining table they had previously eaten at. He motioned towards Peter.

"Yeah, so he pulls himself out of his prison. There's literally nothing in it. It's all white, and empty except for a blanket thing or whatever for his bed. The alarms are going crazy, but I grab him and speed down the hall and into the elevator. There were, like, a dozen guards waiting in the hall, but we blew past them so fast that they fell over." Peter laughed at the memory.

He adopted Erik's gruff tone of voice as he said, "'I know crazy,'" and laughed again.

"Then what happened?" Lorna's eyes were wide in her awe.

"The doors open, and this British dude that I came with _pops_ him right in the face! Oh, man, I've never seen a guy's head snap like that. Charles, the British guy, says-" The trio's head snapped towards the bedroom when a loud splash of water echoed down the hall. Lorna pushed herself off the edge of the couch and wobbled in place. She didn't appear sure as to what she should do.

Jason gently grasped her hand, and pulled her into the kitchen. He placed her atop the counter and handed her plastic measuring cups. "Peter will take care of whatever it is. And you take care of me, Bunny." He offered her a bland smile.

Peter had already sped the short distance from the sofa to the bedroom. Finding it empty, aside from Erik's clothes atop the mattress, Peter raced to the bathroom door and pressed his ear against it. The splashing increased, and was followed by water hitting the linoleum floor. Skin squeaked as it rubbed against wet porcelain.

Concerned, the teen used all of his weight to push against the door. It didn't appear to be locked, but stuck. He bodily shouldered it until it flew open and slammed against the wall so hard he was sure he splintered it. However, the door was of no worry when he saw the cause of all the commotion.

Erik's head thrashed back and forth, as a deep indentation formed between his furrowed brows. His teeth were bared in a silent snarl, and his body so rigid that Peter knew he was going to feel sore for days. Peter raised a hand towards the man, but didn't know how he should wake him. He didn't appear hurt, but rather in the throes of a nightmare.

Just before he could come to any sort of a conclusion, Erik's head dipped underneath the water, and he exploded upward as he unconsciously inhaled. Erik threw himself over the side of the tub, and ignored the way the ceramic dug into his heaving abdomen as he gagged and coughed. Rivulets of water raced down his jaw from his sodden hair, and tears stung his red-rimmed eyes as he struggled to steady his erratic breathing.

"Get...out." Erik's bloodshot eyes burned a hole through the sneakers Peter wore.

"Are you-"

"Out!" Erik swiped a hand in the air, and the tub's faucet made a horrible sound as it was instantly malformed. The teen jumped, and raced out of the room. Erik let his body sag against the edge of the tub. His arm dangled out over the side in an awkward position. His fingers grazed through a puddle of water that had formed, and he splayed his hand directly above it.

"Damn," he muttered into the damp skin of his forearm.

* * *

**TBC...**

**Please Review.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

* * *

Fully dressed, Erik stood in the open doorway of the hotel bedroom, but made no move to step out. He placed his hands into the pockets of his trousers, and bowed his head as he listened to the soft murmurs of the others. The delicious aroma of baked pie piqued his hunger, but he couldn't seem to make his feet go. He could feel the slight tremble of muscle in his sinewy legs; he felt as if he had spent the day swimming in an unforgiving ocean.

With great effort, Erik removed his hands from the comfort of the pockets, and forced himself out into the hall. He had been staring at the bare wall for the better part of ten minutes, so he knew now that it was most definitely there when he finally moved. His nose still ached from the impact, but he was glad to note that it wasn't broken.

He strode towards the others, and slowed to a stop when they looked up from their dessert and leveled him with varying degrees of concern. He was, once again, immensely glad that he didn't have any telepathic tendencies. That kind of ability could only be considered a curse if he could actually feel the overwhelming emotions directed at him...because of _him_. He ignored the slight twitch in his eye.

"There's a plate in the microwave if you're hungry," the previously knife-wielding mutant stated. He appeared young, with wiry mutton chops, and an upturned nose that fit his posh accent.

"Thanks," Erik said mildly. He made no move to get it, though. His eyes had fastened on Lorna's face. The child, in turn, had done the same.

"It's not nice to stare, Bunny."

The affectionate nickname tore Erik's astonished gaze from the familiar face and towards the other mutant. "Who are you again?" His tone of voice wasn't unkind, but the steel behind the words brooked no argument either.

The man appeared miffed at his lack of manners. He stood up and held out a hand to shake. Erik took a few steps closer to the table, but made no other move to greet him. The mutant lowered his hand. "I'm Jason Wyngarde, and this is Lorna-"

"I know who she is."

Jason frowned. "You may be her father, _Magneto_, but that doesn't mean you _know_ her."

Erik's head tilted a fraction to the side, and he lazily lifted a hand towards the mutant. He accessed his ability, and pinned the younger man down into his seat by the buckle of his thin belt. His pale blue eyes narrowed in fury, but most of it was directed inwardly.

A hand too small to be Peter's found itself on Erik's forearm. He glanced down in surprise to see that Lorna had risen and now stood by his side. "Please don't. He helped me."

Erik lowered his arm, and let it rest by his side. Jason made no move to retaliate, and Peter watched the exchange with a mild smirk and a mouthful of delicious pie. Erik knelt down and touched the hem of the young girl's shirt. He looked up into her green eyes, and felt a sense of jubilation well up inside his chest. Her lips were thicker than his, but she had his eyes (aside from the obvious coloring her mutation allowed her.) Her nose was rounded with a certain pertness, but was his nonetheless. She also possessed his strong chin and jawline, but that too was softened by her youth and femininity.

The metal-bender delicately reached up and traced her soft cheek with his index finger. She leaned into the touch, and smiled at the affection. Erik beamed in all his toothy glory. He held out his hand, and looked down as she grasped it as tightly as she could. He shook.

"I'm Erik Lehnsherr. Your father."

"I'm Lorna. Your daughter."

"I figured it out first," Peter announced from where he sat. Whipped cream framed his lips. He slipped his thumb into his mouth, and suckled on the appendage with delight. He kicked his chair back so that it precariously rested its weight on its back two legs. He shook the nearly empty can of cream, before placing the nozzle in his mouth and spurting the last of it within.

Erik shook his head, but found he had nothing to say. He stood, and winced as his knees protested the movement, and rested a hand atop Lorna's dark hair. He tousled a few of the strands, and gently moved his fingers down until he gripped the ends of her long mane. He held up the hair to her eyes, and shook his head. "No more of this, understand? You have no reason to be ashamed of yourself. You're beautiful, Lorna." He released the strands of hair. "Exceptional."

She peered up at him from underneath long lashes, and nodded in an almost bashful manner. Her cheeks were tinged pink, but her lips were quirked into a smile of unfettered adoration. Erik chuffed her chin, and turned to face the glowering Jason. "Thank you for looking after her."

Jason's brow jumped in his surprise, but he nodded in reply.

"Are you hungry?" Lorna asked as Erik took the seat next to the one she had been on.

"Famished," he said.

She happily skipped to the kitchen to retrieve his meal as he turned and set his elbows on the table. He leveled the young man adjacent to him with his stern glare. "Jason, are you one of us?"

Peter stopped munching, and allowed the chair to fall heavily to the ground. He faced the man as well, and took another forkful of food.

"I am," Jason replied calmly.

"What canya do?" Peter asked around the mush.

"I'm a bit of a reality-bender myself." Jason swiftly stood. Without a single shimmer or physical morph of any kind, he was suddenly a shorter, slight man with matted gray hair.

Erik was floored by the seamless shift. His mind's eye supplied the vision of this older man, but there was nothing to indicate a change had taken place. He was just different without so much as a blink of an eye. Peter dropped his fork and slowly applauded as Erik deferred to the man's power with a slight tilt of his head.

"That's remarkable," Erik claimed. "How does it work?"

Jason, with a proud smirk claiming his once again youthful countenance, sat back down in all his posh-like grace. "It's psionic. I am able to telepathically send an image into your mind, and make you see images that do not exist in reality. It's the same for smells, sounds, and so on."

"Groovy," Peter scoffed.

Beeping indicated that the meal was done being microwaved, and was shortly followed by Lorna emerging from the kitchen with a paper plate ladened with chips, a sandwich, and a thick slice of pie. Peter laughed, and motioned towards the plate with his fork.

"You didn't mic all of that, did you?"

Lorna scowled, and placed the meal in front of Erik. "No, you dork. I microwaved the pie first, and then put the rest of the stuff back on. I'm not a complete goon."

Erik couldn't contain a chuckle, and felt the fondness well up within him once again. He had two of his children with him. He could scarcely believe it. He took a hefty bite of the sandwich, and hummed his contentment. "My compliments to the chef."

Jason nodded curtly. He stood, and snatched the empty can from Peter's reaching grasp. "If you're quite finished." Peter huffed indignantly, and made a grabby motion with his outstretched hand. "Aw, c'mon, Mastermind. I think there was a little bit at the bottom."

The whiskered man shook his head, and made a point to let the can hit the bottom of the trash bin a little harder than necessary. The mutant was fully aware that the teen could have easily raced to the kitchen and grabbed the can before it even left his hand, but they both knew it was a fruitless task.

Erik forked the last bite of pie into his mouth, and dabbed at his lips with a napkin Lorna quietly provided him with. He smiled down at her, and she beamed right back. "I guess I was more than famished."

"Is that even possible?" Lorna asked innocently.

Peter glanced over, his eyes bouncing off the inked forearm, but he said nothing. For every childish moment the teen may have, he usually showed a brief moment of tact not long after. Erik was grateful the teen refrained from comment as he nodded in confirmation at Lorna's question. "Yes."

Lorna seemed to sense an unspoken conversation that she was not party to, and didn't offer to continue that trail of talk. Instead, she pushed her recently topped off glass of water towards Erik.

He looked down at her hand, and caught sight of the drink. His body immediately tensed at the object, but he shook it off with the vigor of a survivor, and took a thankful sip from the proffered beverage. "Thank you," he murmured kindly. He couldn't meet her eyes. He had a brief moment of panic from a goddamn glass of water, and was immensely grateful that the others didn't seem to notice.

Jason returned empty handed, and took his seat. He folded his hands atop the glass table, and looked over at the father/daughter pair. "So, what are your plans now?"

"I think," Erik replied as he copied the other man's position, "The same could be asked of you. I'm starting a Brotherhood, if you will; a group of similarly minded mutants. As it stands, the only members are the three of us."

There was no question as to whether or not Lorna was to return to her previous life. Whatever she had known before, was no longer. She was the daughter of Erik Lehnsherr, and she was to remain by his side from here on out. The young man, who viewed himself as an older brother to her, completely understood that fact. It was a matter of whether or not he was to enlist with them as well.

"I see."

"I will understand if you wish to return to your previous life," Erik commented, "I'm merely offering you a role in something that has the potential to be very powerful."

"Powerful?" A greedy look overtook the man's face. He spread his palms out, and smiled. "Now how can I refuse an offer like that?"

* * *

**TBC...**

**Please Review.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

* * *

It had been two uneventful days since Erik found out that he was saved by a fellow mutant, and his own daughter. It didn't escape his sense of irony when he recalled that he was essentially saved by his son as well. Ten years of solitary confinement called for a savior, and that was what he received in spades...and then some.

As it was, Erik was now driving along a miraculously smooth road towards their next destination with two additions to his fledging Brotherhood. He didn't much care for the mutant dubbed Mastermind, but could admit that he had a grudging respect towards the other man when it came to his mutation. He could be a very, very powerful mutant someday. It was better to have him as an ally, than a foe. As for Lorna, well, he was smitten with the adorable child. Erik was sure he would have felt that way regardless of his relation to her, but as it stood, it didn't hurt.

Although, at the moment, Erik was beginning to feel the beginning of a headache from the incessant chatter the two youngsters of their little group managed to maintain. Erik didn't feel at all bad for mentally referring to his teen of a son as a youngster. The boy had the maturity level of one.

"Check out that diner!" Lorna cried as the building loomed ahead.

"Awesome," Peter claimed as he playfully climbed up behind her. "I'm starving."

"Me too," Lorna admitted.

The Victorian-looking man said nothing, and when Erik glanced over to see why, he realized that the mutant was sleeping soundly against the window pane. He wasn't particularly hungry, but he was well versed in the uncertainty of the "if and when" when it came to the next meal. So, he eased on the gas, and turned the car into the furthest left lane.

Peter appeared between the two seats, and jabbed a finger into the lean flesh of the sleeping man. He burst into laughter when the man jerked awake with an undignified snort. Lorna shared a high five with him, and Erik caught her eyes in the rear view mirror. "Lorna, please don't encourage the child." The gleam in his eyes belied his faux seriousness.

"Yes, sir," she replied in a glum voice. But it was all in good fun.

Peter ignored the remark about his immaturity, and instead pointed at the diner. "We're going to get some grub, Master-bed."

Erik's nose wrinkled in amusement as the other mutant blearily rubbed at his eyes and muttered, "That was uncalled for." Lorna's barely stifled giggled prompted a "Traitor" through a hand covered yawn. "Where are we?"

The metal-bender glanced away from the red light, and offered a one-armed shrug.

"Splendid," Jason muttered as he started to come to his senses.

"We need a teleporter next," Peter griped when the light didn't change within the next second.

Erik sighed softly, closed his eyes, and rubbed his brow with his free hand. "Patience is a virtue, Pietro." He could feel the teen's indignant huff against his bare arm. He opened an eye, and peripherally peered down at his son. The teen ignored the look.

"It's green!" Lorna cried a little more jubilantly than was warranted.

Erik made the turn, and pulled into the diner's parking lot. There appeared to be only two other vehicles in front of the small building, but Erik could sense the metal frame of a third parked in the back. He parked beside a pale green and white pickup truck that appeared to have seen better days, and unbuckled his seatbelt with a wave of his hand.

From the minor shift of magnetism that Erik could feel grazing over his unique abilities, Lorna had apparently made use of her powers to mimic her father. He couldn't help a slight quirk of his lips at the thought. Peter, having had not buckled his belt in the first place, zipped out of the car and appeared on his half-sister's side. He opened the door, and offered her a grin when she smiled at the gesture.

"Thanks, Pie." She pulled her slight frame from the vehicle, and shaded her luminous green eyes from the sharp sun.

"Oh, man," Peter whistled, "I could go for some cheap, diner pie."

"Cheap being the operative word," Erik couldn't help but say. He was being mindful of their low income, and didn't want to resort to having his only son steal from the other patrons. If he could help it. The thought of having to hightail it out of a tacky diner, of all things, threatened to worsen Erik's established headache.

Peter shrugged at the reminder, and slung his arm around Lorna's shoulders. He pulled them toward the steel-framed, glass double doors of the diner. Jason followed suit, wincing as he stretched the kinks in his neck, while Erik trailed behind.

The building was essentially an oven, Erik immediately realized, when the heat enveloped them the second they entered. Sweat began to bead at his temples, and he could feel the moisture building underneath his thin polo. He was content to sit at the counter, rather than a vinyl booth by the window. He could almost imagine how the sun-scorched fabric would feel against the bare portions of his skin.

Erik took the furthest bar stool from the entrance, and turned the swiveling seat so that he could press his back against the paint-chipped wall beside him. Peter eagerly clambered atop the stool next to him, knocking Erik's long legs in the process, like a toddler happy to be in his father's presence. Lorna, using the sole rung on the chair to aid her, sat beside her newly discovered brother with a closed mouth smile. The tips of her sneakers barely scraped the very rung she had used to help herself up. Jason took his position as Erik's bookend, beside Lorna, and grabbed a menu before him between two fingers.

"Disgusting," he snipped. He dropped the plastic menu, and rubbed his fingers together. "And sticky," he added. His American accent did nothing to ease the poshness of his voice. It nearly grated on Erik's nerves for that reason alone, but it also reminded him a little too much of someone else.

Erik cleared his throat, and plucked his upside-down menu from off the counter and skimmed its contents before settling for a simple black coffee, and a meal of eggs with toast. He placed the menu back down, and casually scanned the rest of the diner from where he sat. He could feel the outline of glasses or goggles in the restroom, and the steel leg of an elderly man sitting in a booth by himself. Erik considered neither a threat, so he turned his attention to his children at his side.

"I can't decide," Peter complained. His gray brows were drawn together above his rapidly moving eyes. His leg bounced up and down as he read and reread the menu. "What are you getting?"

"Me?" Lorna questioned. At Peter's hum of confirmation, she pointed out a picture of a pancake platter with a helping of bacon. "It's either that or something from the lunch menu. I can't decide."

Erik placed his left elbow on the beige colored counter top (which he believed used to be white, but was now permanently stained from too many coffee spills,) and listened to his daughter muse over what she wanted to eat at that moment. He felt deeply about this moment, and wanted to laugh at how sentimental he had gotten, and over what meal his child chose to eat, before he understood why; he didn't want his child to want for anything. He didn't want her decisions in life to be any harder than "What should I have for lunch today?"

A woman with more red on her lips than she was apparently able to dye into her hair emerged from the kitchen, and whipped out a pen and pad with the ease of a professional. She disinterestedly took down their orders, and stated that their meals would be up shortly. When she left to check on the older man, Lorna and Peter began to chuckle and whisper amongst themselves.

The metal-bender listened to his progeny discuss for a few minutes longer, before the sound of a commode flushing caught his attention. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, and leaned a little to the right. The bathroom was a few feet behind where he was sitting. After a beat, the sound of running water followed before a door opened. Erik waited for the occupant to pass him, and was startled to see that person was horribly disfigured.

The male, donning a stained apron as he shuffled past them, had warped skin that covered the entirety of his face. He had no hair aside from a flattened, Mohawk-esque style on the top of his head. He was also wearing a pair of goggles that didn't have any discernible frames to keep them from falling off, yet they stayed put as the teen walked around the counter. He stopped in place when his attention landed on Erik at the end, but he displayed no emotion aside from a flicker of recognition.

Erik, having relaxed his level of alertness when he thought there were no threats in the immediate vicinity, felt his back ache in response to his sudden tenseness. The diner's employee had apparently recognized him. "Curious," Erik quietly said to himself. His steely gaze raked over the retreating teenager with a mixture of apprehension and interest.

Their meals only took a few minutes to come out after the teen entered the back, and the group was happy to put off anything that required more words than "Pass the salt, please." When his meal was inhaled, and his coffee half-depleted, Erik pushed away his plate and stood.

"Where ya going?" Peter asked after, thankfully, swallowing his bite.

"To compliment the chef," Erik answered as he went to the opposite end of the diner, and rounded the counter with the confidence the others wished they had. He disappeared behind the plastic curtain that separated the kitchen from the front, and stood behind the disfigured teen.

"Good afternoon," Erik supplied when he noticed that the other male hadn't heard him come in. The cook jumped, and whirled around with a spatula in his hand.

Despite the voice in the back of his head stating that being disfigured or disabled didn't mean you were a mutant, Erik had a strong feeling that that was what he was looking at. Being up close revealed the bubbled flesh to be in the pattern of scales, and the parted lips hinted at a forked tongue within. Erik couldn't help a toothy smile when he held up his hand for the younger man to shake.

"My name is Erik Lehnsherr, and I have a feeling that you and I are quite alike."

* * *

**TBC...**

**Please Review.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

* * *

"Watch where you're putting that elbow," Peter groused. He shifted in the backseat, and huffed in annoyance. There was enough room for the three mutants to sit comfortably in the back, but Peter wasn't necessarily feeling happy that their recent addition separated him from his little sister.

"Then move over." Mortimer Toynbee, who suggested the others call him Toad, didn't bother to look over at the other teen.

"I can't believe you quit on the spot," Lorna claimed. She had her nose pressed against the glass, and was watching the diner they had left from grow smaller and smaller as they traveled.

Morty shrugged. "The old man was the only one that came in there. You guys were the most people in that place since the 50's."

Peter narrowed his eyes. "How _old_ are you?"

"Old enough to have gone to Vietnam," he retorted. He could see the outer edges of Erik's right brow raise. He had hoped his sarcastic tone didn't offend the older man. The last thing he wanted to do was give the metal-bender an excuse to dump him by the side of the road. Erik, despite having done nothing more than give a pretty speech and demonstrate his magnetic abilities, had shown more kindness to the teen than any other person in the entirety of his young life. The cook, so enthralled by the prospect of being accepted by others, easily forgot the stories he had heard about the infamous Lehnsherr during his tour in Vietnam.

Erik, realizing that the minor squabbling was threatening to only increase, decided to make use of the radio. He reached over and turned the plastic knob until a host announced that the next song was to be by sung by artist Jim Croce. Peter visibly started, sitting up in excitement, so Erik withdrew his hand and left the station where it was. A catchy piano tune filled the vehicle, before Jim Croce began singing "Bad Bad Leroy Brown."

Peter delightfully bobbed his head, and tapped his thighs along with the beat; a habit that hadn't gone wholly unnoticed by Erik. Lorna happily joined in with a slightly offbeat clap, but her cheerful laugh negated her off tune. Her pseudo-older brother, having been trying to fall back asleep, turned his head to smile softly at her glee.

The song wasn't exactly Erik's type, but it was the first he heard it. It did have him nodding his head in time after a minute of playing. He coasted the car along the road, eventually taking a ramp that led to a highway. His intention was to get back to New York, and find a safe house in familiar territory, so that they could conduct an actual semblance of a plan. It was only a stroke of luck that Mastermind and Lorna came upon them, and the same for them when finding Toad.

Eventually, Jim Croce's voice was replaced by the host's. He exclaimed that their Top 100 play list was leading up to the current number one hit: "Tie a Yellow Ribbon 'Round the Ole Oak Tree," by Tony Orlando and Dawn. The song, as equally upbeat as the last one, began to filter in the car. The trio in the back tapped, hummed, and bobbed along while Erik continuously drove on.

When that song faded off, the host stated that they would restart the Top 100 list in an hour. Erik decided to leave the station where it was. He was enjoying the laughter in the back seat as he quietly drove. He didn't know how long the laughter would last. He had a sinking, gut clenching feeling that things were going to get hairy within the next few days.

* * *

It had been five hours since they had found and recruited Toad. The younger man was sleeping as comfortably as he could in between two writhing bodies. Lorna, who had been content to watch the scenery change from woodland to brick buildings, had been trying to keep her whimpers to herself. Erik knew that the child probably needed to use the restroom as badly as Peter did. The teen, however, made it known as vocally as only he could.

"C'mon," he whined. "We've passed a hundred places we could have stopped at."

"Peter," Erik admonished, "We're on the highway."

The teen made a disgusted sound, and forcefully bumped his head against Jason's headrest. "So, take the next exit then."

"I have to go too," Lorna finally admitted.

Erik sighed, and relented to the inevitable. He had wanted to make the trip back to New York without any pit stops, but it was a very long ride for teens and children a like. He took the next ramp off the relatively empty highway, and kept an eye out for any local gas stations.

After several minutes of mindless driving about, Peter excitedly pointed out a station down the way. Erik had to use his powers to wrap his son's unbuckled seatbelt around him, lest the teen jumped out of the moving vehicle. When the boy let out a startled grunt, Erik knew his concern was correct.

"Uncalled for," Peter mumbled. He rubbed his chest where the belt restrained him in his attempt to take off. His dark eyed glare wasn't missed by his father's perceptive eyes.

"I dare say it was," Jason stated in a smug tone. Peter retaliated by pressing his hands on the exposed metal of Jason's headrest, and used his ability to shake the seat.

"Cut it out," Erik said calmly, although his firm tone didn't allow for Peter to believe he didn't mean it. It didn't seem to have stopped the teen anyway.

"Hey!" Lorna cried out. Erik's eyes snapped up, and he half turned to see that the now awake Toad had shot out his tongue, and had wrapped it around the both of Peter's wrists.

"Gross," Peter claimed as he held up his bound hands. His upturned nose was wrinkled in disgust. "Unhand me you creature." Lorna's pout dissolved into another ready smile.

Apparently, Mort was unaffected by Peter's put upon tone. But when he looked up, and met steady Erik's gaze in the review mirror, he released his hold on the other teen. He offered the older man a subtle shrug that the other either didn't notice or didn't feel the need to reply to.

Erik pulled into the station, and parked the car in front of the nearest pump. With a quick flick of his hand, the four doors simultaneously opened. "In and out."

Peter was already gone.

"Can we get some snacks?"

The metal-bender turned on his heel, and looked down into his daughter's large, green eyes. He offered a slight smile, and reached into his back pocket for his cash. When he pulled out a single, crisp bill he frowned. "I only have a twenty, and we need that for petrol."

Lorna's face fell, and Erik had to restrain himself from leaning down and hugging her until she grinned again. Instead, he replaced the bill in his pocket, and placed a hand on her slender shoulder. "Ask Peter to grab something for you, alright?"

The child's smile returned in full force. "Really?"

_No_, _say no you idiot. _"Of course."

"Thank you, Daddy!" She skipped towards the entrance as Erik's heart soared within his chest.

"I'm doomed," he muttered as he grabbed the nozzle.

* * *

Several hours later, with the encroaching darkness of the evening at their backs, the Brotherhood entered the state of New York with nonexistent fanfare.

Erik, feeling the first waves of exhaustion cresting over him, perked a brow in mild amusement when he realized that he was surrounded by his sleeping brood. He managed a cursory glance of the dark interior, and felt a paternal quirk of his lips at the various states of the others. Occasionally, slants of artificial light would light up their sleeping faces with every lamppost Erik passed. He could make out Peter, slumped against the door, with his mouth parted in sleep. Morty, sitting up with his arms loosely folded across his chest, had his head set on the motor-mouthed teen's left shoulder. Lorna, from what Erik could scarcely see, had drawn her legs up underneath herself. Her head lolled against the bottom of the window pane.

Erik returned his eyes to the windshield. The mixture of dust, sand, and dirt that had coated the glass was easily wiped away with a quick squirt of wiper fluid. He blinked against the bleariness that the liquid left behind, and languidly rubbed at his eyes. Erik conceded to his tiredness when it seemed that no amount of scrubbing would rid his eyesight or the windshield of its perpetual blur.

The outskirt of the city, lined with unkempt trees, eventually gave way to an opening that led down a vaguely familiar road. Erik took the familiarity as a hunch, and opted to take the route. As the asphalt gave way to grass and gravel, and the lights behind him gradually faded away, Erik realized why he had recognized the nondescript trail.

"Emma," Erik wistfully sighed. The diamond beauty had mentioned, in her usual disinterested and unaffected manner, that there had been a house that a former member of the Hellfire Club used to reside in. She had casually implanted the location in his mind, and ignored his growl of distrust.

_"Stay out of my head."_

_ Emma seemingly rolled her eyes without actually making the motion. Only she was capable of such a maneuver. She didn't bother to look up as she held up one delicate hand. The shine of her nails nearly overtook the smell of polish._

_ "I wasn't about to write it down it down, and risk messing up my nails, sugar."_

_ Erik scowled, but opted not to comment. Instead, he made a pointed look at his set aside helmet, and asked, "_Former_ member?"_

_ "Well," Emma gracefully stood and admired her handiwork. "A man like Shaw certainly wasn't going to allow a woman like Tessa get away with what she'd done; the traitorous wench."_

With a sharp blink, Erik jerked himself out of his deep reverie. He slowed the car to a stop, and peered out of the driver's window. A large, ordinary house was perched atop a neatly rounded hill before him. The building, made of white paneled slabs and similarly painted logs, stood in stark contrast to the encompassing night.

Erik let himself out of the vehicle, stretched, and stared up at the house. It was large, it didn't appear to need too much work, and it was out of the way. Erik thought it was perfect.

"Where are we?" Lorna's voice groggily drifted from inside.

Erik opened her door, unbuckled her belt with a wave of his hand, and gingerly reached in to pick her up. While she may later protest against being held at her age, she currently accepted the gesture with a contented sigh. Erik rest his head atop of hers, and turned to face the building once more.

"We're home."

* * *

**TBC...**

**Please Review.**


End file.
